


I Want Every Kind of Kiss [We've Never Shared]

by openmoments



Category: Football RPF, Sports RPF
Genre: La Liga, M/M, Real Madrid CF, boys loving boys is how i roll
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-26
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:06:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/openmoments/pseuds/openmoments
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mesut and Sergio are dating, but that's not easy when you're a footballer, never mind when you play for Real Madrid. Mesut wonders if they're being too obvious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Want Every Kind of Kiss [We've Never Shared]

**Author's Note:**

> Self shippers make my job so much easier and with all the tumblr collages on Twitter and FB, wearing each other's kits and the goal dedications, I couldn't not write about it. For ziphertis over at LJ because she was closest in our ridiculous game of, "When will Sergio or Xabi get their yellow?" :)

He knows he had a goofy smile on his face when he dedicated his goal to Mesut. He tried to keep it under control, tried to say it like it was just for a good friend, someone he cared about, but was just a friend. Except that would be lying and he’s never been good with lying about his feelings. They’re all there, on his sleeve, for everyone to see and this, this has been the hardest thing he’s ever done. 

“You’re the most obvious person I know,” Iker tells him after he’s done with the interview, making his way to the locker room.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” is what he replies with, a smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. They both know that’s a lie because if there’s anyone who knows him, it’s Iker. The only way he gets away with a lie is because Iker lets him, gives him his space, waits to tell him the truth. He likes knowing that Iker knows him this well and accepts him. That Iker does accept it and is still here. But, for now, it’s easier this way. To have it stay under the surface and not have to look it in the eyes. 

Iker just rolls his eyes at him before clapping his hand on his shoulder and Sergio drops a kiss on his temple just before they enter the locker room. Inside it’s chaotic and Sergio can’t help the smile spreading across his face, the way everyone’s yelling at each other, dancing on benches. 

He scans the room quickly and finds him sandwiched between Karim and Sami, the three of them listening to something on someone’s phone, kits slung over shoulders and clutched in hands as their heads bob to whatever beat they’re listening to. 

Mesut looks up and catches him watching, offers a smile before Karim pokes at the phone in his hand and he pulls it away to his disappointment. There’s a brief exchange of words and Sergio’s sure that the only reason Sami’s saying anything is because he needs to translate half of what Mesut is saying for Karim. 

The thought makes him shake his head before Marcelo bounces over with Pepe close behind and he gets pulled in to their celebratory mini conga line, Cris hanging back against the wall, Iker sitting on the bench next to him, calmly untying his boots.

 

They drive home separately most days, even though it makes sense for them to drive together. Mesut asks about it every so often, but after they had a big fight about it one night, with Mesut tight lipped and walking out, the door closing so quietly Sergio knew he was furious, he’s accepted it won’t happen, not like he wants it to. 

Sometimes Sergio thinks it’s all his fault and that he should say yes, that he shouldn’t feel like the bottom of his stomach’s fallen out and all the air’s been pulled out of his lungs. But he does because he doesn’t what to acknowledge what the consequences would be. Would, not possibly because there’s a certainty he can’t shake off. 

He explained it to Mesut, after. After he had knocked on the door, pressed his ear up against it and begged him to please open it up because there was a reason and that he wanted to say yes, to everything. 

 

“You’re getting obvious,” is how he answers the phone as he maneuvers through traffic, signaling and pulling into the right lane. 

“It’s harmless,” he reasons calmly and Sergio catches the blinker signaling right as well before pulling in behind him.

“Besides,” he continues as they stop when the light turns red, “you’re the one who got all stupid dedicating your goal to me. If I’m obvious then I don’t know what you were,” and Sergio doesn’t want to admit that he has a point.

“But I had to considering that whole “I put your gross, sweaty kit under mine,” deal that had José threatening to bury me alive,” he counters practically.

There’s nothing from the other end of the line as the light turns green and they drive up another two blocks before turning right. 

“You still there?” he asks after it’s gotten too quiet and his blinker has turned off.

“Yeah, I’m still here,” he replies and there’s a pause before he adds, quietly, “I wish you could love loudly, like you’re supposed to,” and Sergio has to let that sit for a minute, lets it rest against his heart for a minute because it almost hurts. 

“Don’t say that,” he replies softly as he sees Mesut’s car pull into his driveway as he continues past to his. 

“Why not? It’s true,” and there’s an edge of desperation to his voice and Sergio can picture him in his car, forehead against the wheel, the heel of his left hand pressed against his knee. 

“No it’s not,” he tells Mesut, firmly, wanting him to shut up and stop talking because he’s starting to panic. 

“I can tell when you’re lying, you know,” Mesut tells him and he can hear the slight crook of a smile in his voice and he realizes he’s been holding his breathe in.  
“Looks like I’ll have to start practicing,” he teases and Mesut laughs. It’s dry and cut a little short, but it’s a laugh. 

They’re silent again, both of them in their cars, meters apart, sitting the dark, just breathing at each other and Sergio likes this, likes how they can be quiet together. No words just to talk. 

“You were fantastic tonight,” he finally says because he hasn’t said it and he knows Mesut’s smiling, shy and proud. 

“You too,” he replies with and it’s not much but Sergio knows he means it with his whole being and that’s all that he needs. 

“I’ll be over in ten?” and it’s a question even though they both know, by now, it’s a statement but he feels it’s polite to ask, just to let Mesut know he can say no if he ever wants to. His breathing always slows down, almost stops while he waits for Mesut’s answer, wonders if today will be the day Mesut says no. 

“Like you need to ask anymore,” is what he replies with and the weight in his chest eases up and his breathing returns and he hangs up the phone as he opens the door, pulls his equipment bag out from the backseat. 

He doesn’t even need ten minutes, it’s just what he always says. He dumps his smelly clothes into the laundry and putters around the kitchen for a couple of minutes, drinks a glass of water as he leans against the counter and sees a couple of lights turn on in Mesut’s house. He finishes his glass, rinses it and sticks it on the drainboard before checking his pockets and locking the house. 

 

It took him a couple of months before he listened to Mesut and stopped knocking. He still pauses outside the door before he enters, knuckles resting against it before he turns the knob and lets himself in. 

He almost passes by the living room on his way to the kitchen and then upstairs before he sees Mesut’s feet propped over the edge of the sofa. The TV’s playing softly and there are no lights on, though there are in the kitchen and, if he looks a little, there are lights on upstairs. 

He frowns a little as he pauses for a moment, trying to make out Mesut’s dark head against the black of the room. Mesut doesn’t turn to look at him until he grabs his sock clad toes and then he smiles and they stand there like that, smiling at each other as the TV plays match highlights from the evening.  
“Can I join you?” he finally asks and he knows Mesut just rolls his eyes as he doesn’t say anything. His grin stretches as Mesut rolls over and he climbs over the edge of the couch and slides in between the back of the couch and Mesut. 

He props his head on his elbow, his other hand resting on the waistband of Mesut’s jeans even as Mesut adjusts his legs, tangles theirs all together. He likes this. Likes how Mesut feels pressed up against his chest, how he can hear him breathe. Likes knowing beyond a doubt that he’s there, touchable, solid. 

“You never watch match highlights,” Sergio finally says and it sounds stupid but it’s true: Mesut doesn’t. He doesn’t normally enjoy it and usually finds some telenova to watch instead, has Sergio translate and explain what he doesn’t understand (which is normally all of it). 

“I wanted to see our goals,” he says simply and Sergio moves his arm, slides it around his chest and pulls him closer. 

“You know,” he teases, “You said you were going to dedicate your goal to me and I haven’t heard you do that yet.” 

“Well you went and hogged the interview so you’ll just have to wait,” he says and Sergio laughs before pressing a kiss just behind Mesut’s ear. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologizes, voice serious and he feels Mesut go still, stop blinking, stop breathing. “Next time I’ll let them interview you and let you tell them how ‘muy feliz’ you are about scoring with me,” and his mouth curves into a smile against Mesut’s neck before Mesut sits up and turns around, balancing precariously on the edge of the couch.

“Oh really?” he asks, eyebrows raised, looking down at Sergio, who stares up with wide eyes. He mutters something under his breathe, Sergio can’t quite make it out, but he figures it’s in German before Mesut says, “If they really knew who the lucky one was...,” and Sergio bursts out laughing as he reaches up and tugs Mesut down towards him. 

He loves kissing Mesut. He makes it feel like so much more than just kissing. Sergio thinks maybe it’s because he’s young, remembers, knows, that he’s not naive, but that he’s got this exuberance, this desire to say so much with such a small act. 

“Do you want to finish watching the highlights?” Sergio asks after he pulls back and Mesut glances over his shoulder at the TV, watching as the announcer starts discussing their match before he shrugs.

“No, it’s alright, I was there,” he replies cheekily and Sergio laughs as Mesut pushes himself over Sergio, straddling his hips, both hands on his chest. 

Sergio slides his hands up and down his thighs, before one climbs back behind his neck, fingers tangling in the short hairs there. He lifts his head up as Mesut leans down and he sighs against his mouth, lets Mesut push him back down against the couch. He can feel his hands start wandering under his shirt, warm against his skin, fingernails scraping lightly against his stomach. 

He huffs a laugh against Mesut’s mouth when he tries tugging his shirt up and it gets tangled around his armpits. 

“This isn’t working,” Mesut pouts as he pulls back, a little too hard and almost tips off the couch before Sergio steadies him. Sergio laughs as he fiddles with the hem of Mesut’s shirt before he tugs him back down by it.

“Well,” he says as he places open mouthed kisses against the corner of his mouth, his chin, down his neck, “Do you have a better idea?” he asks and grins against the skin of Mesut’s neck when the only sound he makes is a strangled one, low in his throat. 

“What was that?” he teases and Mesut pulls away, just a fraction and Sergio loves the way his eyes are dark and his tongue darts out at his bottom lip. He leans in to chase it, but Mesut’s got his hand on his chest, shakes his head.

“I think,” he says as he bucks his hips gently and Sergio can feel his eyes fluttering close as a groan sticks deep in his chest, “You should take me upstairs and show me exactly how well you score,” and Sergio tries to laugh, tries to tell him that was a terrible joke and he needs to work on it, but Mesut’s chest to chest with him now, his arms wrapped around his neck and all Sergio wants to know is why they’re both not naked yet.

He groans because Mesut’s working on his neck now and his legs and his brain aren’t working well together and his hands are crawling up under Mesut’s shirt, wondering why they have to make it up the stairs and can’t just stay on the couch. 

He figures he must say it out loud, because he dimly hears Mesut chuckle in his ear, “My bed would be much more comfortable than the couch,” and somehow he manages to get his hands under his ass as he swings his legs over the edge of the couch. 

Mesut’s still working on his neck, body pulled flushed against his and Sergio leans back, tries to look stern as he says, “We’re never going to get anywhere if you don’t stop,” as Mesut blinks wide eyed at him before he pecks him on the lips and pulls away with a grin.

“Get to it then, Ramos,” and Sergio lets out a long breath as he plants his feet firmly on the floor before managing to stand up, Mesut’s legs wrapped tightly around his waist and he almost falls back down on the couch at the feeling of Mesut’s cock hard and pressed up against his stomach.

Mesut growls right by his ear and somehow Sergio manages to start walking, Mesut’s teeth nipping at his ear, his neck, his chin. His foot hits the first stair and he almost stumbles but his hand darts out against the wall, Mesut’s right there next to his. 

“You need to stop,” he huffs out and Mesut looks at him with a cheeky smile as Sergio gets them up the next couple of stairs. 

“You need to go faster,” Mesut says in return and Sergio just raises an eyebrow at him as he reaches the top. 

Mesut tightens his legs around him as they reach the doorway to his bedroom, his mouth back to leaving marks down his neck as Sergio finally reaches the edge of the bed. 

Mesut’s hanging onto him tightly, arms and legs wrapped around him and Sergio wraps one hand around his back, crawls them onto the bed. Mesut’s already got his hands crawling under his shirt, pulling it up his back and Sergio pulls back to sit on his heels as Mesut finishes tugging his shirt over his head. 

“Mmmmm. Better,” Mesut mumbles with an appreciative smile and Sergio grins wolfishly down at him as he leans back down, hands on either side of Mesut’s head. 

“Like what you see?” he whispers, voice hoarse.

“Can I see more of it?” is how Mesut answers, all silky fire and Sergio swears under his breath as something zings down his spine. 

His mouth finds Mesut’s as an answer, their hands fumbling between themselves as Sergio works on pulling Mesut’s shirt over his head, Mesut’s hands getting in the way trying to map out as much of Sergio’s torso as possible.

Sergio sucks on one of Mesut’s earlobes, bites around the stud there and hisses when Mesut bucks his hips up, grinding up against the erection they’ve both ignored until now.

“Fuck Mesut,” he pants against his neck before he starts trailing open mouthed kisses down his throat, sucking dark bruises onto his collar bones, before nipping down his torso, Mesut’s hands threading themselves through what’s left of his hair. 

He mouths at the bulge in Mesut’s pants, smiling a little when Mesut lets out a pained moan, grins when he hears, “Hurry the fuck up, will you?” from above. He makes him wait a few more seconds before his fingers start to fumble with his belt before he starts sliding his pants off, Mesut lifting his hips to help him. 

Sergio tosses them to the floor, mouth already on Mesut’s belly as he works his way slowly, biting and teasing all the skin his mouth can reach, broken noises coming from above him as Mesut asks if he’s trying to kill him.

He leaves a kiss on the inside of Mesut’s thigh before he makes his way back up, Mesut heaving out a broken moan as his cock continues to leak against his stomach.

“You’re such a fucking tease,” he manages out and grimaces when Sergio just smiles. 

“But I’m so worth it, baby,” he replies with a cheeky grin that slips as Mesut slides a hand down the front of his jeans, squeezing the bulge he finds there.

“Let me help you out of those,” he says as Sergio’s mouth drops open and the only thing he can do is nod as both their hands fumble to undo his belt and push his pants down, Sergio hissing as Mesut’s hand brushes against his cock in the process.

Sergio lets out a shaky breath as he feels Mesut wrap a hand loosely around his cock before he throws out a wild arm to find the bedside table, Mesut crawling half on top of him to help search for the lube. 

Somehow, between the two of them, it lands on the bed and Mesut’s getting it open and suddenly Sergio’s letting out a low moan as Mesut’s hand starts sliding up and down his dick, and they’re kissing sloppily, mouths up against each other. 

Sergio gets his hand in between them too, wraps his hand around both of them and they both moan against each other as their hands stroke together. 

Mesut’s mouth is pressed up against Sergio’s throat, his moans vibrating against the skin there and Sergio can only repeat his name, over and over, the words hoving over his ear, “Mesut, Mesut, Mesut,” and lets out a cry as Mesut bites down on the skin of his neck as Sergio feels him come between their stomachs. It takes another two, three strokes and Mesut swipes his thumb over the head of his cock and Sergio follows him over the edge, body going taught before he goes limp, forehead pressed against the covers.

He breathes heavily against the blankets, his other hand rubbing circles on Mesut’s hip before he lifts his head and presses a kiss against his forehead, his nose, his lips. He rolls onto his back, frowning at the mess covering his stomach as Mesut tilts his head, presses a kiss against his shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” he asks and Sergio lets out a chuckle before he shakes his head.

“That I’m really lucky,” he replies as turns his head to look at Mesut, taking in the way his lips are red and swollen, his hair standing on end and sweaty, eyes still containing a blissed out look to them. 

They lay there like that for a few minutes, just looking at each other before Sergio rolls over and makes his way to the bathroom for a cloth, cleans himself up in front of the mirror, grins stupidly at all the marks Mesut’s made over his shoulders and neck before he grabs a new washcloth and runs it under the warm water before he takes it to the bedroom to go help Mesut clean up. 

Sergio fishes out a pair of shorts from the top drawer to sleep in because he weirdly doesn’t like sleeping naked, which Mesut has raised his eyebrows about since the first time he stayed over and he asked if he could. Then he climbs in under the sheets next to Mesut because all of a sudden he’s really tired and sore and sleep sounds like the best idea right now. 

“Do you think we’re being too obvious?” Mesut asks in the dark and the question makes Sergio go still for a moment before he moves his chin to Mesut’s shoulder.

“Maybe,” he admits and he can feel Mesut take a deep breath and he continues, “But I want to be obvious with you,” he continues, tightening his arm around Mesut’s middle, “I want to dedicate goals to you and have people know why and not draw conspiracy theories.”

“But that’s not going to happen, is it?” Mesut asks and it’s a statement he’s turned into a question because Sergio knows he wants him to deny it, wants to say that it can and it will and everything will be fine. 

“Not anytime soon, I don’t think,” he admits and it makes him feel like a coward, lying like this. He loves being a blancos and wearing the Madrid crest and the Madridistas. With all his heart. But it’s hard. Somedays it’s really hard. And he knows Mesut feels the same way and that even though it shouldn’t, this would make it so much harder and he doesn’t know if he’s strong enough for that. 

(There are times when he can’t fall asleep, Mesut curled up next to him, when he thinks he’s too much of a coward for this and Mesut deserves better. But, he also thinks, he deserves better and they deserve better. It doesn’t make it right, but it does help him sleep, at least.) 

“Okay,” is all Mesut says, simply and accepting and Sergio knows that sometimes Mesut needs to hear it and that that’s something he can do for him: he can do that and say things that are really hard to say, things that hurt, because someone needs to and he doesn’t want that person to be Mesut. 

“One day,” he says it like a promise and knows Mesut’s smiling in the darkness and hopes it’s one he can keep. 

 

There’s a barrage of notifications on his Twitter a few days later, after Mesut posts another collage of photos of them and Sergio smiles at some of the comments before he sends a direct message to him, just a simple heart. 

No, they can’t be obvious and hold hands or kiss after wins in public but they can do this and for right now, he’s alright with that. It’s enough.


End file.
